


Old Habits Die With Us

by MotelsandDiners



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Conflicting Lines of Thought, Evil Dean Winchester, Fractured Concept of Time, Gen, Light Angst, POV Dean Winchester, vague plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 04:56:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9107557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotelsandDiners/pseuds/MotelsandDiners
Summary: I tried, even when I knew it'd be useless. But, that's my biggest character flaw, I guess. People called it a lot of things: courageous, gutsy, brave, stubborn. Really, though, I was just selfish. I laugh about it now, how far I went to deny and hide it. Don't have to anymore.





	

I realized, a little while back, that you can’t be mad at God and not believe in him at the same time.

Maybe belief is the wrong word for me though. More like, I couldn’t be mad at him and deny his existence, because I knew. I knew he was real, more-so than those religious kooks. Those blind believers that devoted themselves whole-heartedly to their ‘father’.

It made me laugh, because when I thought about it, I couldn’t really distinguish any differences between my earthly father, and my quote on quote ‘heavenly Father’ -excuse me while I laugh-

Neither one of them were really there for their children when it mattered, when they really needed him. They both had their own agendas that were just too important to compromise. So, the children were compromised instead.

Easy to make a sacrifice when you’re not the one paying for it.

I think that’s why I always put myself on the line, to prove to myself that unselfish sacrifice is real and we’re capable of it. That sacrifice is a choice and not a punishment. I try to prove it, because I don’t believe it.

I made my peace with dying a long time ago. Didn’t really care how I went, so long as I saved someone else in the process.

I tried to be the good in this world, be an example that I wouldn’t worry about Sam following. But like life was so fond of reminding me: You can’t always get what you want. I was more than accustomed to that.

If souls had words attached to them, I’m sure that would be written on mine in nice bold letters. I’ve gotten used to being disappointed, let down, feeling worthless. I don’t get my hopes up anymore, I just brace and grit my teeth, waiting for everything to go to shit around me. I’m certain things will never work out for me, as sure as I am that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west.

But, I’m okay with that. I’ve had a long time to accept the nature of my ending. I know it won’t be in a hospital bed surrounded by people that care about me. It won’t be in my house, or an apartment. It won’t be peaceful or quiet.

It’ll be bloody and painful. And I’m okay with that too.

I know where I’m going. I don’t have hopes for the future, only regrets for the past, and that’s the perfect place for them to rest.

There’s something about it that’s real. It has more substance than the other side of the coin, more meaning. I think it’s because I’ve never truly known what happiness is. I’ve glimpsed it, grazed it with my fingertips, but I always lose it before I can appreciate it. I wasn’t supposed to be happy, or know what it felt like.

Where I’m going, it’s the perfect place for me. Do I want to go? No. But I know I belong there. I can’t be happy, or carefree, or relieved of my crimes. I don’t belong in that bubble of everlasting joy and peace.

There’s a part of that place that I took with me, or maybe I truly never left and a part of me is there. Point being, there’s a sliver of me that’s missing. A piece of me that stands for everything I’ve ever done and it’s waiting for me. There.

But I’m not done yet. I’ve still got work to do.

I’ll keep going. For as long as I can.

I’ll try to be the good in this world, knowing all the while that I’m everything wrong with it. Because I’ll do what I need to, even when I don’t want to. I’ll do things that can’t be justified, and I don’t need forgiveness anymore.

I’ve learned to live without it. It only makes sense that I should die without it.

But…he won’t follow me here. I’ll make sure of it. Saving him will be what destroys me in the end. Getting him where he should be will be the nail in my coffin.

I’ll do evil things in the shadows so he can walk in the sunlight. He’ll look back and think that I was the good in this world because he won’t know.

He won’t know that I’m everything wrong with this world.

It’s all waiting for me. Everything I’ve done, everything I haven’t done. It’s all there. Tucked away in blood and screams. Written on the walls and hanging in the air.

Waiting. Waiting for me to end.

It’ll be bloody and painful. And I’ll welcome it gladly. Because it’s right, and it’s where I belong. It’s what I deserve.

The middle part of my story…is taking entirely too long.

I’m ready.

Have been for a long time.

But-

You can’t always get what you want.

I wanted to prove that I could sacrifice without the expectation of compensation. I wanted him to outlast me. I wanted to save him.

I wanted him to think I was the good in the world. Not for me. I don’t need a pedestal, or a pat on the back.

I didn’t want him to know what I was inside. What I was prepared to do, and where I was prepared to go.

Premature.

Both of us. Our times.

He should’ve lasted years after me.

And I…I should be dying like a sacrifice. Someone should be grateful they were alive while I was dying. But there was no one.

Not anymore. They were all gone, and so was I. I died a long time ago. About the same time as Sam.

But I was still hanging on. Reluctant to close my eyes. Because the scenery wouldn’t change. It was all the same.

I see, why I could walk around doing the things I did. It was because he was the good in the world, and I was everything wrong with it, hoping to change.

Now he’s gone, and I realize just how pointless everything I did really was. Nothing good came out of my life.

And now…

The cold is familiar, in a way that soothes my soul, tempers the burning. The screams too, they were an old lullaby that I almost forgot. But the knives, the tools. Those I didn’t forget. Relief and satisfaction when they’re nestled into my palms. Old friends. I like to think they missed me as much as I missed them. I can sigh and breathe easily, knowing I’m home.

…Nothing good is going to come out of my death.

But that’s okay. I know I’m incapable of doing anything for the betterment of the world.

This side of the coin…I can work with.

The part of me that belongs here doesn’t need to be justified.

Because now I can have whatever I want. And I will.

She cries when I approach, and I don’t care. She screams as I shove the blade behind her kneecap, and it sounds like ‘Welcome home.’

I smile, “Well, thank you. There’s no place like home, you know?” and I pop her knee-cap off.

 


End file.
